


A Calm Night in Sussex

by biswholocked



Series: JWP 2016 [7]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Death from Old Age, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Growing Old Together, Old Age, Post-Story: His Last Bow, Post-World War I, Retirement, Shippy Gen, Sussex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biswholocked/pseuds/biswholocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief look into Holmes and Watson's retirement post-WW1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Calm Night in Sussex

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day seven of JWP. Today's prompt was: epidemic.
> 
> This is my first time writing ACD fic! (Ahh!) So feedback is welcome, but please be kind :) Written after some very brief research on the Spanish Flu Pandemic of 1918. As with many things I write, gen or slash goggles work.

It was a dark, calm night in Sussex when the great Sherlock Holmes took his last breath. After the acts of espionage I chronicled in  _ His Last Bow _ , Holmes and I had moved to a simple cottage in the middle of the Downs, an idyllic place lacking in nothing except bothersome neighbours.

Holmes took to the country life surprisingly well; indeed, he had less trouble settling in amongst the bees and calm days than I. He would spend hour upon hour in the garden, tending to his bees and noting every minute change in their activities. In the cool evenings, he sat at the desk by the fireplace downstairs and put his pen to the page. He had decided to write a book, on the science of deduction. 

“Someone needs to set your audience straight on the facts,” he told me many times, mouth turned up at the corners.

Gradually, I too grew accustomed to the slower pace of life. I adopted a small bloodhound pup found wandering our yard, and he and I walked the hillsides for miles around. Occasionally my skills as a medical man would be needed in the small town nearby, but mostly I learned to cook and clean, and kept my own hands busy.

The Great War, when it came, did little to change Holmes and I’s lives. Men knocked on our door more than I could count, seeking Holmes’ services, but he turned them away time after time.

“I have served my country enough,” he said to them. “Leave the fighting to the young men, find new brains to put to use.”

And so the men stopped coming. Holmes and I continued on much the same, besides the small concessions such as blackout curtains and fewer fires. The War ended, and the world heaved a sigh of relief as Holmes’ first book on beekeeping was published.

When the year 1918 dawned, I found myself surprised; despite all the danger and trouble Holmes and I had gotten into as youths, we had made it to old age. Our joints ached. We took afternoon naps on our porch. And even more shocking: we  _ enjoyed _ it.

Of course, all good things must come to an end. The Spanish Influenza spread through England faster than wildfire, and Holmes was caught up in the blaze. He deteriorated quickly, from a small cough one day to a fever and chills the next. One morning, he was unable to get out of bed, and so Gladstone and I came to him, and stayed by his side to ensure he was cared for. I did all that I could, and it was not enough. As the lamp burned low, Holmes spoke his last words.

“The bees...will you?”

I laid my hand over his in reassurance. “Of course, Holmes.”

He smiled. “Good fellow,” he said in thanks, and let his eyes slip closed in sleep. A few minutes later, the harsh sound of his breathing went quiet, and he was gone.

Sherlock Holmes was a temperamental man, possessing a sharp tongue and habits I disagreed with. He was not an easy man to like. Still, he was also a great man, with a mind the likes of which will likely never be seen again.

Sherlock Holmes was my dearest and closest friend, and while the world may miss him for a few headlines, I shall mourn him as I tend to his beloved hives for the rest of my days.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always welcome and appreciated!


End file.
